because I don't know what I'd do without you
by psychicchameleon
Summary: "You're not my dad!" The words blurt out of Peter's mouth before he's even aware of them. Tony stops breathing, his body rigid and his heart racing as he stares straight at Peter. Silence hangs thickly in the air. Peter's voice is wobbly, softer, as he repeats, "you're not my dad." Set sometime between Homecoming and Infinity War. *reupload*


"Incoming call from Tony Stark."

"Uh," Peter flings another web, "Karen, don't pick that up. Text Mr. Stark and tell him I'm at Ned's—no, doing homework—er, something."

"Message to Tony Stark sent."

Peter sighs, hoping that will hold off his mentor for a few more minutes while he chases down the masked men. He slings himself from building to building, keeping the black car below in his line of vision.

"Mr. Parker, your location is currently being tracked by Tony Stark."

"Shit—shoot—scramble the signal. I just need ten more minutes to—Oh hi Mr. Stark!"

The face of Iron Man appears in the left corner of his screen.

"Oh, you did not just try to scramble the tracking signal that I, the world's most underpaid babysitter, specifically installed for you."

Peter tried to keep his breathing even as he kept bouncing from building to building, conjuring up an excuse for being in the suit.

"See, Mr. Stark," he started before he was promptly cut off.

"Unh-uh. Nope. No tinkering with the ridiculously expensive toy I stupidly gave you and absolutely no turning it against me," he paused, "Karen that goes for you too."

Peter tries to think of something to say to defend himself, but his hesitation prompts Tony to continue.

"Comprende, kid? Karen, translate 'comprende' for him."

"Certainly. Comprende is a Spanish word meaning, 'do you understand'?"

"Oh, and yea, I saw the grade you made on that Spanish test last week. Don't think we're not going to have a chat about that later."

"Yes sir," he groans, straining to see the car as the sky around him grows darker.

The call ends abruptly and with no further questioning on Peter's whereabouts, much to his surprise. He doesn't even register the goosebumps on his arm because he's promptly searching for the van again.

"Crap," he says, squinting his eyes into the busy streets below.

Then he sees it. Peter follows the car down a side street and into an empty alley, but six alien guns are trained on him the moment he swings himself into view. It's an ambush.

"Hey Karen, I think some of those Taser webs would come in handy right about now."

In a split second his hands are up, and his eyes reflexively snap shut as an enormous jolt of electricity stuns the crew in the alley, their bodies shaking as the weapons drop to the ground.

His eyes open tentatively and train on the incapacitated criminals in front of him, "Whoah, that was awesome!"

"You b-bastard," one of the men behind the masks manages to sputter out as Peter starts webbing up the weapons and moves them safely out of reach.

"Hey now, I don't think that kind of language is—," but he's cut off by a voice from behind him.

"I think our friend was talking to me, kid."

Tony would have paid for a framed picture of the look on Peter's face as he turned around because, even with the mask on, it was priceless.

"Homework, was it?" He asks a still-stunned Peter before turning his attention to the men in the alley.

"Alright ridiculously generic bad guys," a suit-clad Stark pauses, looking the crew up and down, "I mean ski masks? Really? I'm not mad, just... disappointed, I guess."

A man spits at Iron Man's feet, and Tony rolls his eyes in glorious fashion before grabbing Peter by the collar.

"As fun as this has been, it's giving me wicked flashbacks to the plot of every single bland movie Rhodey has ever conned me into watching."

He points his thrusters toward the ground and the suit flies into the sky, cradling a protesting Spider-Man in its arms.

"Mr. Stark, we can't just leave them there!"

"Relax kid, the Tasers will keep them occupied until the police get there. Believe it or not, but they _are_ qualified to take care of criminals."

Peter huffs and squirms against the metal suit.

"Kid, do you _want_ to be scraped off the streets of New York?"

"You're carrying me like a baby!" Peter whines, still wriggling in Tony's grasp.

"What's that phrase that parents use all the time? Act like a child and I'll treat you like one?"

Peter finally gives in and relaxes, the Avengers Tower in sight.

"Mr. Stark, I had it under control."

Iron Man's feet hit the landing pad of the tower and Tony unceremoniously drops Peter onto the ground before stepping out of the suit.

"Oh, right, silly me. I forgot that walking straight into six giant guns is a controlled scenario," Peter opens his mouth in an attempt to counter him but the older man isn't done.

"I'm not much of a gambler, but in a game of teenage mutant vs. alien weapons, I'm not betting the beach house on you. I don't care if those goons look like they're straight out of a Home Alone movie." Tony walks through the glass doors, leaving Peter no choice but to follow.

"I don't need a babysitter, Mr. Stark. When are you going to just trust me? I can handle myself out there. If you would've just given me five more minutes I w—."

"Five more minutes and I might've been sending Happy's ass down there to clean spider guts off of the brick wall! This is the third time _this week_ that you've been in over your head kid."

"Stop calling me a kid!" He yells, hating how horribly childlike the sound is coming from his mouth.

"I'mthe adult. Until you can drive yourself to school instead of taking the magic school bus I reserve the right to call you kid. And as long as _you're_ a kid and _I'm_ an adult, _I_ make the rules, which means no more patrolling for the rest of the week."

Tony cringes a bit at his own words, but he's watched that kid literally stare down the barrel of a gun too many times. Peter may be superhuman, but he's not invincible, and Tony isn't taking any more chances.

"You can't do that! I need to patrol, or people are going to get hurt!"

"Do I need to repeat myself? Adult," he says, pointing to himself, and then he turns his finger toward Peter, "and kid. I make the rules here, and I say no more patrolling for the rest of the week. You keep talking back and I'll make it two weeks."

"You're not my dad!" The words blurt out of Peter's mouth before he's even aware of them.

Tony stops breathing, his body rigid and his heart racing as he stares straight at Peter. Silence hangs thickly in the air.

Peter's voice is wobbly, softer, as he repeats, "you're not my dad." He blinks quickly to suppress the wetness in his eyes and bites his cheek to hold back a hoarse sob.

Tony is glued to the spot, arms and legs frozen, eyes looking like something on a spectrum between a deer in headlights and a kicked puppy.

He doesn't react as Peter walks to the door, wrist aimed at the sky before disappearing into the dark.

It takes a whole seven minutes for the never-fazed Tony Stark to regain his surroundings.

The kid is right—he's not his father. Hell, if Peter ever called him 'dad' he'd probably shit his pants. And yet his chest hurt in a way that even the shrapnel from all those years before couldn't even begin to compare to.

Tony doesn't know what he wants or needs to say, but he needs to say something, or scream, or just collapse. His breathing comes back now, rapid and shallow. The more he thinks the faster he breathes and he doesn't realize he's having a panic attack until he's in the middle of it.

His feet start moving toward the window to the spot where the boy in blue and red had vanished just minutes before. He only has to spread his arms before the Iron Man suit gracefully conforms to his body.

Tony finds Peter on a rooftop in Queens. The emotional haywire has the boy's senses working on overdrive, and he hears Iron Man coming long before the billionaire takes the seat next to him.

Peter's been crying, not even trying to conceal wet traces of tears on his cheeks. The anger and frustration he felt earlier is gone now, replaced by strong pangs of guilt and a terrible feeling of emptiness.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before Tony finds his voice.

"Look kid—Pete," he quickly corrects, "I don't want to be your dad."

The words pierce Peter, his worst fear beginning to come to life; Tony telling him he doesn't want to be a part of his life. No more helping with projects in the shop, no more conferences at MIT, no more pizza dinners.

Tony hears a muffled sound come from Peter, and then sniffling.

"No—I mean—I don't want to replace your father. Or Uncle Ben. I will never and can never be for you what they were, and I wouldn't want to. They are both one-hundred times the man I am. So, I'm sorry, if that's how I've been acting, because those guys are special Pete, and I don't want to overstep."

Peter doesn't even take a breath before he starts rambling a barely coherent response.

"No, no, Mr. Stark, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that—I didn't mean it. I was just, you know, this week is the anniversary of Ben's death, and, it—I should've stopped it. I could've stopped it, I was just, I have these powers and I didn't use them, and then someone I loved died. And that's why I was so upset, because I can't stop patrolling, I just can't."

His voice is taut and brittle, and Tony turns his body to face him.

"Peter, you can't hold onto that guilt. The moment you start blaming yourself for people's deaths... there's no coming back."

The vision cast on him by Wanda comes screaming through Tony's mind, the faces of his friends lying dead around him, then, the video of his parents brutally murdered on the side of the road.

Peter's wide eyes look up at him, and for the first time Tony notices the redness in his waterline and the puffiness under his lashes.

"I have nightmares sometimes, and I just watch Ben fall to the ground over and over and over again, and it's all my fault. I can't let go of the guilt, Mr. Stark. Please don't be mad at me, because I—I know I have May, and I love May, she's my whole world, and—and you're not my dad," Peter visibly winces, "I know made that abundantly clear earlier... but you're the closest thing I have, and I don't know what I'll do if I lose that too. I can't lose that too."

It kills Tony to see the hurt in Peter's eyes, to see how the pain in his eyes betray the fact that he's only fifteen because he's already been dealt more blows than most people are in an entire lifetime.

"Peter, I'm not going anywhere. Ever. You and I, we have a lot more in common than I want to admit sometimes. It's why I like you so much," Peter gives a ghost of a smile at this, "and also why I'm out of my mind with worry sometimes. I see myself in you, which is absolutely petrifying. I wouldn't wish the pain or guilt that comes with losing the people who mean the world to you on Satan himself, let alone you."

"I know that feeling of emptiness, of guilt, of needing to do whatever it takes to try and fill that space and to lift some—even just a fraction—of that weight off of your chest. And I know that, if you're as much like me as I think you are, no amount of me telling you to let go of the guilt is ever going to make actually letting go of it any easier, so I'm not going to make you stop patrolling. But, maybe meet me halfway and call me before you throw yourself into the middle of a gun show?"

Peter grins, nodding his head up and down as Tony throws his arm over his shoulders.

"Because I don't know what I'll do if I lose you either kid."

Peter just buries his head into the older man's shoulder, and they sit like that until Tony finally interrupts.

"And Pete? Don't think this means I forgot about that Spanish test."


End file.
